


Angry Young Men

by JustAnotherUselessThrowawayUsername



Category: The Clash
Genre: 1970s, Cheating, Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Punk, Punk Rock, heteroflexible, rocknroll, serenarees, terry chimes, triciaronane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 11:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherUselessThrowawayUsername/pseuds/JustAnotherUselessThrowawayUsername
Summary: Paul was just as confused about his identity as he had been when he was eighteen. Of course, he had grown up since The Clash disbanded. He had stopped getting high, started wearing suits regularly, even started a family, but had he really matured? If James Dean had lived to be fifty, would he still have been playing roles of confused men trying to find their place in the world? Maybe it was just mid-life crisis, but Paul couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't normal. He was fifty years old, and yet, he was still just as confused about who he was and what he wanted as he had been when he was twenty-one.This story takes place in an alternate reality in which Paul Simonon and Joe Strummer were madly in love with each other. It occurs between the years 2002 and 2007 and details how Paul comes to terms with Joe's untimely death.Warning: Some parts are sexually explicit. Lots of philosophical questions are posed to cover up the fact that this is basically porn.Copyright Disclaimer: Most of the chapter titles are taken from the lyrics of Clash songs. Although some of the events described are based on fact, they are completely fictionalized versions.





	1. Up In Heaven

Joe was dead. Paul stared at his cell phone's screen. Could he have read the message correctly? Joe couldn't be dead, he was only fifty. It was the twenty-first century; men didn't die at fifty anymore. Especially not perfectly healthy, happy men like Joe. He watched what he ate, didn't mix his drinks, tried not to smoke too many cigarettes. He had ran marathons when he was younger. No, Paul thought, Joe couldn't be dead. Paul had just been with him a few weeks ago. He had talked to Joe the day before. They had argued over a reunion of The Clash. Joe had been for it, and so had Mick and Topper, but Paul had opposed it. No, it couldn't be true. He had read the text wrong, or else it was in error. Paul read the text message again. It still read the same as it had the last three times he had read it. Joe was dead.


	2. I Wanna Get Serious Right Away

Paul met Joe Strummer in 1976, when Mick had recruited Joe to be in their band. Joe was an attractive angry young rebel, sure, but Paul was straight, just like Joe. Sometimes, though, Paul had caught himself staring at the dark-haired enigma, whether it was while they were playing or when they shared a hotel room on tour. He even caught himself sketching Joe in his notebook. He had a sneaking feeling Joe did the same, too. One morning when Paul came out of the shower, he could have sworn that he felt Joe's eyes on his bare back while he pretended to sleep. They shared a few drunken kisses in pubs, but not more than any other two very drunk close straight friends had. One time, however, when Paul had been very, very, drunk, he had let Joe give him a blowjob. If he had been more sober, he would have stopped it, but he had been too drunk to care. Joe, on the other hand, had only had a few beers. He had wanted to do it.   
The very next morning, Joe had told Paul how much he liked him. Paul had always been the more traditional, perhaps the more conservative, of the two, and had at first rejected the idea, but the attraction had grown too strong and occasionally they had made out while sober. Once, in the summer of '79, when The Clash was on tour, Paul had been very tired and rested his head on Joe's shoulder on the tour bus. It hadn't meant much at the time, until Joe thought that Paul-and, presumably, Mick and Topper also-was asleep and had kissed him gently on the neck. He had wished that moment would go on forever, but had been startled out of his ignorant bliss by Mick's shouted profanities at him and Joe. Paul had wanted to get out and jump under the bus-or, at the very least, lock himself in his painting studio and cry-as Mick yelled at the two, but, eventually, Topper had calmed all three of them down, saying, "Look, we're all of the left here, there's no reason we can't accept this and work it out." Even for the most liberal-leaning men, in 1979 that was a brave thing to say.

"I'm not gay," Paul had protested. "I'm straight. I like women. I'm straight. We're both straight-I think..." he had glanced over at Joe and trailed off.

"Yeah, I'm straight," Joe had agreed.

"You're both faggots," Mick had retorted mercilessly and Paul had once again wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

"Look, why can't they be straight and be-whatever they are?" Topper had asked. Paul would smile looking back at that defense. He had really liked Topper when he was clean and sober. If only they could have kept him that way.

Topper had managed not only to talk sense into Mick, but into them all, and gotten Mick to accept it. Knowing that Topper accepted it and Mick at least pretended to be supportive made Paul feel more comfortable with the idea of being in a relationship with Joe, and their intimacy soon escalated to more.


	3. I Can't Be Happy Without You Around

Paul found himself at the West London Crematorium several days after receiving the news of Joe's passing. Joe had had some sort of hereditary heart defect, and, as Mick had put it, the defect could have killed him at eight or eighty. He was lucky to have lived as long as he did and to have packed so much into his short life. Maybe they hadn't changed the world, but when they were young they thought that they could. And they had changed some people's attitudes, and perhaps that could change the world.

Topper, despite his ongoing battle with heroin and alcohol, managed to turn up for the ceremony. He really was clean, too. Paul saw him and Mick, as well as Joe's widow, stepdaughter, and two daughters, Jazz and Lola. Once, when Joe was a new father, Paul had joked that one day he would marry Jazz. Now she was a pretty young woman eighteen with her father's eyes. She had his eyebrows, too, Paul noted. He saw Serena Rees and her husband, Joe Corre, at the funeral, too. He had met Joe's parents, Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren, back in 1976 when he had first gotten involved in the punk scene. Serena was thirteen years younger than him, very pretty in her mid-thirties. She didn't look all that different from Paul's own wife, Tricia, though her skin was darker and she just had this more...exotic look about her.

Paul was startled back to reality by Tricia's elbow being thrust violently into his side. He turned to her angrily, but swallowed anything he might have been about to say. Quickly, he turned back to Serena and her husband and awkwardly blurted out some reason to excuse himself.

"What was that for?" he asked Tricia once Serena and Joe were out of earshot.

"You know," she told him.

"No I don't."

"I saw the way you were looking at her," Tricia said sternly, gesturing her head towards Serena.

"I wasn't looking at her in any way that I haven't since I first met her," Paul mumbled. That was a lie. He hadn't looked at her in any way that his wife wouldn't approve perhaps since they first met. She had been just a little girl then. They had been friends for years, and, besides, this was the funeral for Paul's dear friend, his older brother, his...his lover. He wouldn't be checking out another woman at Joe's funeral. Never. Had he been checking her out? Paul didn't even want to admit the possibility to himself.


	4. My Mind Don't Need It But My Body Do

Joe might not have had tits, but Paul had loved him. Loved him more that he could ever have loved Tricia, and she was the mother of his sons. After the episode on the bus, Mick and Topper seemed to have made a silent agreement to always let Paul and Joe share hotel rooms on tours. At that time they were touring just so that they didn't go broke, and when they weren't touring, they were working on their third studio album, London Calling.

One night after playing in Glasgow, the four of them went out to one of the local pubs for a couple rounds of drinks. It was a dreary fall night, much colder than usual for September in Scotland. It probably wouldn't have seemed so cold except for that it was pouring rain outside. In the pub, however, it was warm and dry and blues played on the jukebox. 

Topper, of course, drank the most of any of them, far too much for what his small body could handle. Mick was fairly drunk, as well, but at least he could stand up on his own. Paul didn't drink very much that night, but it was enough to get him buzzed. Joe's condition was somewhere in between Mick's and Paul's, but it was probably a bit closer to Paul's than to Mick's.

The group ran into their hotel in a soaked mess, Topper staggering between Paul and Joe. They stumbled past the front desk-Paul grabbing Mick by the arm when he tried to stop to hit on the secretary-and into the elevator. In a few moments, the door opened again on their floor and Paul and Joe quickly caught Topper as he nearly fell trying to get out.

"Keep him away from the coke tonight, Jonesy," Paul told Mick as he and Joe dropped Topper off his hotel room.

"Alright," Mick slurred and closed the door behind him.

Paul and Joe retreated to their room across the hall and Joe immediately plopped down on the nearest bed and took his boots and socks off. Paul stripped off his soaked leather jacket and hung it up by the door before following Joe's example and taking off his own boots. Joe took off his jacket and drenched red Brigade Rosse t-shirt and threw them in the general direction of the hard floor in the bathroom. Paul quickly forced himself to look away when he realized that he was staring at Joe's chest. Joe grinned, showing off his rotted-away teeth. Paul moved to the other side of the room, behind the bed next to the one Joe was sitting on and turned his back to him, taking off his soaking wet blue collared shirt, undoing his studded belt and struggling to pull off his leather trousers. He laid down on his own bed, keeping his body turned away from Joe, who had been watching him intently as he undressed.

Paul heard Joe undoing his belt buckle, but he dared not glance over his shoulder at him. Perhaps it was just the alcohol and it would pass. Although Topper had warmed them all up to the idea of a relationship between Paul and Joe and although Paul had made out with him several times, he still felt uncomfortable being aroused in any way by Joe. A couple hours ago, Joe had been something other than human onstage, like he always was. He had been some sort of machine. One didn't get excited by a machine. At least, that was what Paul tried to tell himself. Off stage, though, Joe was one of the most human people Paul had ever known.

"Hey, Paul," he felt Joe's hot breath in his ear and cautiously rolled over to face the man, whose face was now only inches away from his own.

"Hey," Paul said nervously, not thinking to say anything else. Before he knew it, Joe had climbed over him and had positioned himself above Paul's body. "What are you doing?" he asked weakly.

Joe smiled. "I want you."

"Oh," Paul groaned.

"I want to make love to you," he specified, although Paul had already easily gathered his meaning.

Paul shook his head worriedly, although he could feel himself growing hard at the thought of it. "I've never done this before. It's going to hurt. I can't-"

"Sh," Joe whispered. "I would never try to hurt you." He cupped his hand behind Paul's head and kissed him, slowly lowering some of his weight down onto Paul's body. Joe ground his hips down into Paul's crotch so that Paul could feel Joe's erection grinding up against his own and moaned into Joe's mouth. Paul brought his hands up and tangled them in Joe's dark quiff, raising his hips to meet Joe's groin without thinking. The worries slowly disappeared from Paul's mind as he became engulfed in the pleasure and the pursuit of release. He tried to control his spasms as Joe ground their erections together, crushing his mouth with kisses.

Paul was surprised when he reached orgasm long before he would normally have. His body went rigid as he was engulfed in pleasure, and Joe broke off his kiss, still thrashing uncontrollably on top of him. Paul suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that he was still wearing his underwear. He was dizzy and embarrassed and exhausted. Paul couldn't move as Joe incessantly ground his hips into his. Finally, Joe started moaning, "Oh fuck, oh fuck," over and over again, his body spasming against Paul's as he rolled off of him, panting heavily.

"What was that?" Paul gasped.

"We should get out of our underwear," Joe said, shivering as he pulled at the waistband. He took off his underwear and threw it off in a corner and then pulled off Paul's, as he had made no move to do so himself, discarded it with his own, and turned to Paul. "Was that alright?" he asked.

"Should've asked that before you started," Paul mumbled.

"I'm sorry," Joe told him, wrapping his arms around Paul's waist. "We won't do it again if you didn't like it."

Paul shook his head. "No, I liked it."

Joe smiled and kissed his forehead. "Good."


	5. Alone I Keep The Wolves At Bay

Paul hadn't been comfortable being at The Clash's induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. He had never liked awards ceremonies. The Clash had never been about winning awards, and neither had he. He had only gone to support Lucinda, Joe's widow, and to celebrate his legacy. The ceremony, however, hadn't really meant anything to him. Topper hadn't showed up, and as he had watched Steven Tyler and AC/DC play onstage, Paul almost wished that he hadn't either.

Now he was in Raasay with Joe's biographer, Chris Salewicz. He was going to paint the house that Joe's grandmother once lived in. The small, abandoned hamlet of Umachan was surrounded by brilliant gray mountains and green expanses of grass. It was almost like a fairy tale village in the romanticised Scottish highlands. Joe had planned a trip here, but it was Paul who had ended up making the trip instead. He set up his easel and canvas before the cabin, which was the grandest house in the village, and began painting. Ever since he was a little boy Paul had been a painter, it made him feel at peace. Being out in the Scottish countryside, in this abandoned village, completely alone save for Chris and their guide, painting Joe's grandmother's house, it helped him to come to terms to Joe's death.

The weather changed suddenly, and Paul soon found himself painting in the pouring rain. "Paul! The fireplace is dry!" Chris shouted from inside the house. The house's heather roof was long gone, so the fireplace was the only place that was dry. Paul took a break to huddle in the fireplace and have a shot of whiskey before braving the rain once again to continue painting the cabin. He painted for several days, and, when he left, he placed a Clash album in the fireplace. He would be back here again, some day. If he could no longer have Joe, at least he could have this place, where Joe's ancestors had dwelt but Joe himself had never made it to.


	6. Caught In The Act...

After that first night together, Joe had began sharing a bed with Paul, although for the first few days Paul barely acknowledged his presence there, but if he woke up and Joe was not there, he would find himself feeling lonely. When the band returned to London and Paul to his own flat, he couldn't get used to sleeping alone again. Hopefully they would be on the road again soon...

"Morning," Joe greeted Paul as he walked through the studio door. Paul hadn't been able to paint that morning and had come down to the studio early to get in some practice before the band arrived.

"Good morning," Paul replied, not looking up from his bass as he played Desmond Dekker's Israelites, quietly humming the lyrics to himself.

"How are you, mate?" Joe asked casually, walking behind him and placing his hands on Paul's shoulders, giving him a gentle massage.

"I'm fine, I just couldn't think of anything to paint. I've been working on this tune," Paul told him, his words hurried due to nervousness. Ignoring Joe's strong hands on his shoulders, he turned from Dekker to a bass line of his own creation. "I've got some lyrics to it, too."

"Yeah?" Joe's voice was nearly a whisper. "Sing 'em."

"I can't sing."

"They're your lyrics, sing them," he prompted. Paul shrugged.

"When they kick at your front door,

How you gonna come?

With your hands on your head,

Or on the trigger of your gun?"

He mumbled the words rather than sang them. "Beautiful," Joe muttered, taking Paul's bass guitar by its neck and pulling it out of his arms.

"So you'll sing it, then?" Paul asked hopefully.

Joe set Paul's bass aside and pulled him up by his shirt collar. Paul twisted around to face him and stepped away from the chair that he had just been sitting on. Joe pulled him in close so that their faces were only inches away from each other. "No. You sing it." Before Paul could protest, Joe had his arms wrapped around him and was crushing his lips with his own. Paul couldn't do anything but kiss him back. Joe moved a hand up into Paul's hair and began pushing him back, until they were pressed up against the studio door, kissing intensely.

Paul broke the kiss. "What if Guy shows up?" he asked worriedly.

"Then we'll probably need to find another studio to make our album in," Joe said, uncaring.

"I don't think Mick will like that very much," Paul managed to get out before Joe once again claimed his mouth. Joe moved one hand from Paul's shoulder, down his side and to the front of his trousers. Paul attempted to protest without breaking their kiss, but to Joe it probably just sounded like a moan of pleasure. Paul's hands flew to Joe's shoulders, but he couldn't find the strength to push him away. His heart was racing. He knew anyone could walk in on them, but he also didn't want to stop. Joe expertly unbuttoned Paul's pants and unzipped the fly, moving his hand into Paul's trousers to grasp his growing erection.

Suddenly, there came a massive shove from the other side of the door, causing Paul to stumble forward and knock Joe on the floor. He barely jumped to avoid falling over Joe's fallen form himself and stumbled around, pulling his zipper back up and trying to regain his balance.

"What the fuck?" he looked up to see Mick standing in the doorway with his guitar case, staring at Paul fumbling with the button of his trousers and then looking down at Joe, who was sprawled out on the floor at his feet.

"Morning, Jonesy," Joe said, sitting up as if it were completely normal. "Paul's going to be singing this great new tune of his."

"What's going on?" Paul heard Topper's voice from out in the hallway behind Mick.

"We've got the wrong room," Mick told him. "Apparently this is the honeymoon suite."

"No, wait, Mick, we weren't doing anything!" Joe protested, jumping up off the floor. "I swear! Paul was just singing to me this new tune he wrote."

"Yeah, 'cause he won't sing it for me." Paul thrust his hands into his pockets, silently cursing himself for wearing such tight pants, and made his way toward the hallway in the back of the room. "If you don't mind, I think I'll just excuse myself to the loo for a little bit and then we can start," he informed them, disappearing down the hall.


	7. If You Say That You Are Mine

"Paul!" Paul turned at the sound of the familiar voice calling his name to see Serena Rees coming in the door of the coffee shop. He glanced around as if there might be another Paul. It had been several years, but he remembered the incident at Joe's funeral. But he hadn't even been looking at her. They were friends, had been for years. Serena walked over to him smiling. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I haven't seen you in a while," Paul said. "How have you been?"

She shrugged. "I could always be better."

Paul smiled. "Of course. I just took a break from my painting to come down here for a bit."

"Dressed like that?" Serena asked.

Paul glanced down at his brown tailored suit. "Yeah. I can't leave the house wearing just whatever."

"Right. Who are you meeting?"

"Nobody. You?"

She shook her head. "Nobody."

"Do you have some time? Would you like to join me?" Paul offered.

"So what are you doing in a place like this?" Serena asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, it's just not the place I would have expected to meet you."

"Can I get you anything?"

She smiled again. That smile was slowly killing him, numbing him to the reality of the situation. "Absolutely."

Paul exhaled sharply. "Alright."


	8. The First Time

Paul had awoken one night on tour to feel Joe's fingers on his chest. It was dark and he could barely make out the outline of Joe's face in the night. "You're up," he whispered, smiling subtly in the dark, absent-mindedly tracing the small pistol tattoo on Paul's chest.

"Couldn't sleep?" Paul asked.

Joe shook his head. "No...You're so fucking hot." He leaned in slightly for a kiss which Paul granted him, tangling his fingers up in his dark hair. Joe put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down onto the mattress, crawling on top of him as he did so. Joe broke off the kiss and began moving downward, passionately kissing his neck and chest, and Paul could feel himself growing hard at Joe's every touch. When he reached Paul's lower stomach he lifted his head and sat back on his haunches, an obscene and somewhat shy grin on his face. Joe put his hands on the waistband of Paul's underwear as Paul watched intently to see what he was going to do next. 

Joe yanked down Paul's underwear and grabbed the base of his cock. He stroked it a few times before lowering his head down, wrapping his lips around its head. Paul sighed quietly at the sensation and leaned back on his pillow. Joe moved his head downward until the tip of Paul's cock bumped into the back of his throat, moving at a fast, steady rhythm for a little while until he abruptly stopped. Paul lifted his head up to look down at the man between his legs. Joe pushed down again, only this time he didn't stop, making a choked sound as he forced Paul's cock down his throat. Paul let out a low moan as Joe's nose bumped his lower stomach. His heart was racing and he was shivering, enjoying the wet pressure of Joe's throat. When Joe started to bring himself up again, Paul grabbed a handful of his hair, perhaps a bit over-zealously, and forced him back down. It wasn't as if he were small, on the contrary, Paul's length was quite impressive, and only one or two out of all of his girls had ever intentionally done what Joe was doing now. 

Although they had done something like this before, Joe seemed far too experienced to only have done it once. They set up a frantic pace, Paul throbbing against Joe's throat and panting heavily and Joe moaning as though he were thoroughly enjoying himself, until he abruptly pulled off.

"Why'd you do that?" Paul whined, feeling just a little disgusted with himself for so desperately wanting Joe. He couldn't help it; he needed to come now.

Joe smirked. "I want more than just a blowjob. Do you have any lotion?"

Paul's head swam with arousal and confusion and he couldn't quite comprehend what Joe was getting at. "No. Why would you need lotion?"

"Well, your arsehole doesn't lubricate itself like a cunt does."

"What?" His head cleared up almost immediately. "No, I can't-I won't-I-" he broke off. Even in this darkness, he could see the lust in Joe's eyes. He swallowed hard. "It's going to hurt," he said quietly. "I've never done this before, Joe."

"You'll be fine," Joe assured him. "I won't hurt you if I can at all help it."

"How do you know? Have you ever done this before?" Paul asked.

"No," Joe said defensively. He seemed offended that Paul would even think to ask a question like that.

"Well then how do you know how to do it without hurting me? What if you do it wrong?" Paul asked nervously.

"Do it wrong?" Joe asked incredulously. "It can't be any different than fucking a woman, and I've done that enough."

"I'm just...scared, Joe. I don't-" Before he could even finish, Joe leaned in and gave him a heated kiss, running his hands up and down the inside of Paul's thighs. Damn, he needed Joe, and if that was the only way to get what he wanted, then he supposed that he would have to comply. Paul pushed Joe off of him. "Alright, but maybe just this once," he conceded, panting to catch his breath.

"We don't have to do it again if you don't like it, but you'll never know if you like it if you never even try," Joe promised him. "I'll go look for something," he said, climbing off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. Paul rubbed his cock furiously. Maybe if he could just get off before Joe returned...

It didn't work. In no time, Joe walked out of the bathroom again. His underwear was gone and he cupped a puddle of shampoo in his hand. Paul tried to force himself to look directly into Joe's eyes and not where he really wanted to. Joe approached the bed and pulled Paul's underwear off of his legs the rest of the way before clambering back up onto the bed and reaching out.

"Stop!" Paul protested. "Don't touch me there!"

"What?" Joe demanded in confusion.

"Just, give that to me." Joe gave him an irritated look and transferred the shampoo to Paul's hand.

When Paul was ready, Joe slowly spread his legs apart until they ached and lowered himself down over Paul's body. "Can we do it face-to-face like this?" Paul asked.

Joe glanced down. "It ain't that much lower than where it'd be on a girl," he mumbled, guiding himself to where he needed to be. Paul's body stiffened when he felt the pressure, and then came Joe's first push. It was very gentle, but since Paul was so tense and worked up, it sent excruciating pain shooting upwards, and he bit down hard on his lower lip to avoid any sound of anguish escaping his mouth. Joe waited a few seconds before continuing, and when he did he thrust very slowly, waiting for Paul's reaction. After a few minutes the Paul began to get used to the pain. He relaxed slightly and it began to ease up more.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, his body going rigid as Joe thrust against something inside of him and his body became engulfed in an intense pleasure that he had never felt before. Joe stopped, probably wondering if he had hurt him. Paul moaned angrily.

"Are you alright, mate?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," Paul said sternly. Joe nodded and continued his slow pace until Paul couldn't stand it anymore. He had to have more friction. "Harder!" he demanded in frustration. "But not too much harder," he quickly added, for fear that the pain he had experienced in the beginning would return. Joe made his thrusts a little firmer and more rapid, dropping his head to Paul's chest to suck and nibble at his nipples, which were pulled taut against his ribs. Paul writhed under him, panting and moaning, wanting more but not daring to ask for it, or even to admit to himself that he wanted it. He already felt like such a fucking queer for liking this.

Joe's stomach was rubbing up against his cock and he wanted badly to reach down and stroke it. Unfortunately, Joe wasn't giving him enough room to do that, so Paul had to endure the merciless teasing of Joe's hair and skin. At last, Joe thrust firmly against just the right spot and Paul froze, letting out a loud moan which soon turned into a shout of pain as Joe completely lost control of himself, his thrusts becoming frantic and rough. "Fuck, stop it!" Paul cried out, pushing Joe abruptly off of him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice wanton. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I just-"

"Shut up you wanker," Paul gasped, still trying to catch his breath from his orgasm. He grabbed Joe's cock and sat up in the bed. Paul stroked it violently as he watched with pleasure as Joe thrashed and moaned, his chest heaving and his hips thrusting upwards uselessly. Finally, he hit his climax, spasming uncontrollably as he came.

"Ah, fuck yeah," Joe moaned, his arms thrown above his head as he recovered. "That felt good."

"Do you want me to go get a towel?" Paul asked and Joe nodded. He got out of the bed and quickly grabbed a towel from the bathroom, wiping off his hand on it before cleaning up the rest of the mess. Once he was finished, he threw it off in the corner and climbed back into bed. Room service could deal with it tomorrow. Joe snuggled up to him, resting his head on Paul's chest. Paul put his arms around Joe's waist and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you," Joe apologized again. "Next time, you can fuck me."

Paul smiled sleepily. "Thanks. Good night, John."

"Night, Paul. Love you."

"Love you, too."


	9. ...You're Married, Too, And That's A Fact

Paul froze mid-thrust when he heard his cell phone ring. He glanced worriedly back and forth between the woman beneath him and his phone on the night stand beside them.

"Don't answer it," Serena moaned.

"It might be my wife," he said worriedly.

"Exactly. Ignore it," she told him, putting an arm around his neck to try to pull his head down. "Just keep going."

"But what is something happened or she's worried about me?" he fretted, "I should answer it just so that she doesn't come looking for me or something." Paul gently tugged her arms off of his neck and picked up his phone, propping himself over her with one arm. "Hello?"

"Where the Hell are you?" he heard Tricia's voice from the other end of the line.

"I'm-" he started, trying to breath slowly and force his voice to sound more normal.

"You've been gone for the past six hours," she interrupted.

"Yeah, I-"

"You said you would be home five hours ago."

"I'm in Brixton," he said hurriedly.

"Why are you in Brixton?" Tricia demanded.

"Well, I went out for coffee-"

I know that."

"-and I just thought I would go and walk around my one of my old neighborhoods."

"How did you get down there? Your bike is still here."

"Yeah, I know. I took the Bakerloo."

"Well, you should have called or at least texted me before you took the Tube down and started gallivanting around. You grew up in Brixton, you know how dangerous it is down there; you could get mugged..." Paul's thoughts were clouded with frustration and arousal and he couldn't concentrate on what Tricia was saying. It didn't help that Serena was running her hands down his chest and distracting him further. Her fingertips danced lightly over his muscles, sending shivers through his body. He couldn't help it when his hips jabbed out reflexively, causing Serena to gasp in surprise.

"What was that?" his wife asked suspiciously.

"Uh, what was what?" he asked, trying to focus on the rather one-sided conversation.

"That noise," she demanded.

"What noise?" he asked nervously, attempting to feign ignorance. "There's a lot of noises on the street, you know?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Tricia accused.

Paul shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't call you. I'll get home as soon as I can, alright?" He hung up before she could answer, quickly pulled out and climbed off of Serena.

"What are you doing?" she protested.

"I've got to get out of here," he told her, discarding his condom and searching for his underwear. "You know how Tricia is. Your husband is probably looking for you, too."

"He's out of town."

"What about your daughter?" Paul asked, pulling on his trousers and opting for the upright-in-the-waistband position to conceal his throbbing erection.

"She's fine," Serena said. "Can't you just stay a little longer?"

"I wish I could."

"Why don't you just get a good divorce lawyer," she suggested.

"That doesn't help right now, and anyway, I have two sons who are thirteen and eleven. My marriage with Tricia is generally good and I'm content with my life."

"If that's true then why are you even here?"

Paul faltered. How had he ended up here? He had gone out for coffee in the afternoon and when he had met Serena he had invited her to join him. They had started talking and when the coffee shop had closed at five he had offered to take her to dinner. Then, somehow, they had ended up here, in a dingy hotel room in Ladbroke Grove. Maybe he wasn't as content in his marriage as he claimed. No, he definitely wasn't, because this had happened and he had let it. "I do want to see you again," he told her, avoiding the question.

"You should think about it, though," Serena said.

"You're married too."

"I'm hoping to work on that in the near future," she promised him.

"You're not happy with Joe?" Paul asked.

"Does it look like I am?" His eyes flicked down the length of her body and it took all of his willpower to turn on his heels and leave the room.

He buttoned his shirt hurriedly as he walked down the stairs and out onto the street, his blazer tucked under his arm. As he made his way to the Ladbroke Grove Underground Station, he wondered what he had been thinking when they had checked into that hotel. No, he knew exactly what he had been thinking. He had done it before, only then it had been with Joe. He had never had to lie about who he was with and it hadn't even really been cheating because he wasn't with another woman. But now Joe was gone. He had been for over two years, and Paul had accepted his death and made peace with it soon afterwards, but he still missed him. He missed Joe's rough voice, his firm caress, that shy grin that he always shot Paul before sucking him off, as if he were looking for permission. Joe had kept him sane after The Clash had imploded, and he had been counting on his painting to keep him sane after Joe's passing, but when he put down his paintbrush, he wasn't nearly as content as he wanted to be. Who was he, anyway? A painter who made music as a hobby, a father and a husband, a man whose second true love (his first was painting) was gone and in its place he had just created a mess by sleeping with a woman who wasn't his wife. The thing was, he didn't really care what his wife would think or do if and when she found out. 

Paul was just as confused about his identity as he had been when he was a young man. Of course, he had grown up since The Clash disbanded. He had stopped getting high, started wearing suits regularly, even started a family, but had he really matured? If James Dean had lived to be fifty, would he still have been playing roles of confused men trying to find their place in the world? Maybe it was just mid-life crisis, but Paul couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't normal. He was fifty years old, and yet, he was still just as confused about who he was and what he wanted as he had been when he was twenty-one.


	10. A Genuine Lover

"Walkin' down the road

With a pistol in your waist,

Johnny you're too bad.

Walkin' down the road

With a rachet in your waist,

Johnny you're too bad.

You're just robbin' and you're stabbin'

And you're lootin' and you're shootin'..."

"Where have you been?" Paul asked when Joe walked into their hotel room just a few nights after their first time. Paul was sitting on one of the beds, shirtless, smoking a cigarette.

"Mick wanted to check out the arcade," Joe shrugged, taking off his boots.

"Yeah?" Paul turned down the radio so that the reggae was in the background. "Did he win big?"

"Lost twenty quids," Joe said, settling down on the bed next to him.

"Why does he like those games, anyway? It's more pointless than gambling." Paul absent-mindedly put out his cigarette and put an arm around his mate. Joe, who was staring into space, pressed himself into the contact, resting his head on Paul's shoulder. For a few moments they stayed like that, but Paul's body hummed with excitement and he felt like his opportunity was slowly slipping away. "Joe?"

Joe lifted his head up and turned to look him in the face. "What?" Paul cupped Joe's face and sought out the other man's lips, initiating a kiss which soon had Joe sinking into the mattress with Paul situated partially on top of him. Cautiously, he pulled away to see that Joe's eyes had gone completely black and his breathing had quickened. Going in for another kiss, Paul began unbuttoning Joe's shirt. Cupping the base of Joe's skull with one hand, he ran his free hand down Joe's chest and brushed lightly past the front of his jeans, stopping and breaking off the kiss just as he was about to open the fly.

"Are you alright with this?" he asked. Joe had promised him, but he didn't want to do anything that Joe wasn't comfortable with.

"I'm alright," Joe told him after a short pause for consideration. "Just get on with it." Paul sighed and opened Joe's fly, struggling briefly to pull off his tight jeans before rolling off of Joe to take off his own trousers. Quickly, they resumed their kisses as Paul pulled Joe's cock out of his underwear to stroke it slowly, causing the other man to squirm under him, moaning into Paul's mouth. Suddenly, Joe put his hands on Paul's chest and pushed him away.

"What?" Paul asked worriedly, wondering what he had done wrong.

"We need something," Joe told him. "You know."

"It's a hotel; there's plenty of free stuff," Paul grinned, relieved, and reached for a small bottle of lotion on the nightstand next to his transistor radio. He squirted some into Joe's hand and put the bottle back, turning off his radio in the process, and watched intently as Joe pulled his underwear off the rest of the way and rubbed in the liberal amount of lotion.

"What about the time Topper and I got arrested for taking pillows from that hotel?" Joe asked, but by now he was frantically jerking off with an expression on his face that was ridden with lust, far too distracted to really care what Paul's answer was. Paul took his own underwear off and crawled on top of Joe, who spread his legs further apart for him. Paul thrust as slowly and gently as he could. His heart was pounding in his chest and it took most of his concentration to keep his thrusts contained. "Are you an old man?" Joe's voice startled Paul out of his thoughts and he stopped abruptly.

"What?"

"Are you an old man?" Joe asked, sounding frustrated.

"No."

"You fuck like one." Paul was more insulted by this than Joe had meant him to be. He remembered when he had been where Joe was now and he remembered how it hurt when Joe had lost control. Careful not to show his anger at Joe's comment, Paul thrust a little more firmly. He really wanted to thrust harder, but he didn't want to hurt Joe..."I won't break," Joe whined. Something in his voice drove Paul wild.

"What if you do?" Paul grunted, panting heavily, enjoying the tight pressure that enveloped his cock, but damn, he needed more friction.

"I'll tell you if it hurts, but fuck, Paul, can't you please fuck me harder?" Joe begged. That was enough for Paul to lose most of his control. He thrust more harshly, pushing Joe down into the mattress by his shoulders, breathing hard. "Yes! Oh, fuck! Harder!" Joe moaned, though Paul was hesitant to grant his request because Joe's face was already contorted in pain. "Please! Oh, fuck, please!" Paul had little choice but to comply, thrusting harder, lowering his face to Joe's neck to kiss it gently. Joe's hands moved down Paul's back to firmly grasp his buttocks and pull him in further and he let out a deep moan of satisfaction. "Fuck, Paul! Oh, yes! Harder!" Joe whined desperately as Paul grabbed his hips to thrust more firmly. He was a little worried because Joe's moans sounded pained and he had several tears streaming down his face, but he kept begging for more, so Paul gave it to him.

It wasn't long before Joe shouted out in pleasure as his body convulsed violently under Paul and his body constricted tightly around Paul's cock as he came hard against his abdomen. If Topper and Mick were in their room and had heard that, they could count on there being some awkwardness between them tomorrow. As Joe's shout tapered off into a series of satisfied moans, Paul's body went rigid and he bit down hard on Joe's neck, prompting a broken whimper from Joe, as his own climax tore through his body.

Paul rolled off of Joe, panting in satisfaction. He put his arm around Joe's waist and pulled him closer. "Damn, my ass hurts," Joe complained half-heartedly.

"That's your own fault 'cause I wasn't going to fuck you that hard," Paul murmured. Joe wrapped his arms around Paul's neck and let out a contented sigh. Paul looked over at him. Joe was a wreck. His hair was a mess and he was drenched in sweat, his black collared shirt was still hanging loosely from his shoulders and he had an angry red mark on the side of his neck, amplified by the fact that his whole body was flushed bright pink, with a shy smile on his face. Paul doubted that he looked much better, though. He figured that he probably had red handprints all over his ass from Joe holding him so tightly. Not only that, but at that moment he thought Joe looked more beautiful than even Caroline Coon or any of the other women that Paul had been with before.

"Do you love me?" Joe asked suddenly, bringing Paul back from his thoughts.

What kind of a question was that? Paul wasn't sure that he knew what love was. He felt unqualified to answer such a question. Finally, he settled on the most honest answer that he could think of. "I love you more than I have ever loved anybody before."

Joe nodded, leaning in to rest his head on Paul's chest. "Will you still love me when we're both old?"

Paul turned off the bedside lamp and stared off into the dark space. "I hope so."


	11. The Truth

Paul rolled over onto his side and stared into the darkness where he assumed the bedside lamp was. He had told Tricia he was meeting an old friend at the pub and wouldn't be back until morning, just like he had done so many times before-only this time, he hadn't met who he had said he was. Now he couldn't even face the woman he had lied to his wife to sleep with. 

He felt a soft hand caress his shoulder. "What's wrong, Paul?" Serena's voice was smooth as silk, unlike the roughness of-he tried to push the thought out of his mind before he completed it.

"Nothing," he replied.

"Yes it is. Every time we do this you seem...distracted."

Paul barely glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not distracted," he defended himself.

"Is it your wife? Your sons?" she asked.

He sighed. "I really do wish it was."

"Is it me? You don't like the way I do it?" she inquired.

"It ain't you."

"Do you act like this with every woman you sleep with?"

Paul turned to face her. "You're the only woman beside my wife that I've slept with since our wedding day."

Serena looked as though she might burst out laughing. "You're kidding!"

"No, I'm not," he said firmly, angry that she didn't believe him.

"Please, you're not the kind to just settle down with one woman-"

"Obviously! Look what I'm doing here!" he interrupted bitterly.

"You've really never cheated on your wife before?" she asked, looking confused.

"That ain't exactly what I said," he mumbled, turning away from her again.

"You said you never-" Serena broke off, leaving whatever she had been about to say unsaid. "You are bisexual?" she deducted.

"No!" he shouted, silently cursing himself for having let himself say so much. Serena just had this way of making him do whatever she wanted without even having to say anything. He fucking hated it.

"What? But if you never slept with a woman while you were married to your wife but you still cheated on her, who would it have been with if not a man?" she asked.

"Maybe he was, but I'm straight," he growled. "Maybe I should just leave. I've gone and fucked up everything!" He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

"I'm sorry if I don't understand, but I don't care if you have been with a man."

Paul stared through the doorway of the hotel bathroom, his gaze far away. What the Hell was he supposed to do now? How could he have been so stupid? There were only six living people in the whole world who knew about him and Joe and they were Mick, Topper, Terry Chimes, Johnny Green, Baker Glare, and some groupie from Paris whose name he did not even know, and the only reason she knew was because he had been drunk. "Was it someone I know? Is that it?" Serena's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"It was-" Paul's voice caught in his throat. Why would he tell her? "I'm straight," he repeated, deciding to leave it at that. He began to stand, but she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down.

"Were you drunk?" she asked softly.

Yes, that was it. He and some guy had gotten drunk and he hadn't known what he was doing. That was what he could tell her and the whole incident could be forgotten. "Yeah," he put his legs back up on the bed and sank down into the mattress. She laid her head on his chest, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. 

He had been thinking about Joe, and he had been the last two times that they had done this, too. He used to tell Tricia that he and Joe were going out to a bar or something, but would instead meet at a hotel. Now that he thought about it, perhaps those nights had been the only reason he had been able to remain married to Tricia. As much as he wanted to be a father to his sons, he simply didn't love her and now that Joe was gone, he couldn't remain faithful to her, either. Maybe he didn't even really understand what love was-although it had sure felt like love when he was in Joe's arms, and even though she couldn't replace that, perhaps he did love Serena just a little bit. Or he could have been completely wrong. It could easily just be that he was bored with his wife and Serena had been available as an alternative. Paul laid awake for a long time struggling with this. If he did love her, she deserved to know about Joe. But if he didn't, then he would be risking letting the world know, because if they started a relationship and he left her, she could very well use it to blackmail him. He knew he wouldn't put that sort of thing past Tricia, and he didn't very well know if he could trust Serena, either.

"It was Joe Strummer," he said into the darkness, hoping that she was fast asleep and hadn't heard him. "I loved Joe Strummer." Serena didn't reply. Even though no one more knew now than had known before, Paul felt as though a weight had been lifted off his chest. Now maybe he could forget about Joe and live fully in the present. Maybe he could finally be content.


	12. Paul & Joe: A History

From 1980 onward, every tour that The Clash went on had been like a honeymoon for Joe and Paul, and when they were in London, Joe-who was living with his girlfriend, Gaby Salter, at the time-would occasionally sleep over at Paul's flat. Their relationship never complicated either man's relationships with women, however, and Paul successfully maintained a relationship with Pearl Harbour and then Tricia Ronane as Joe did with Gaby. In spring of 1982, Topper was sacked due to his heroin addiction, and that was when Terry had rejoined and quickly found out about their relationship, which, by late '82 had become rather shaky. Joe's ego had become about as big as North America by that time, and so they had become somewhat distant, though every night they pretended to be lovers.

Joe sacked Mick in May of '83. Although Mick had become pretty difficult to work with, Paul was still slightly angry with Joe for firing him. Their new drummer who replaced Terry and their two new guitarists never learned of their relationship, although Paul supposed they might have guessed. At that point he was rather fed up with The Clash and couldn't have cared less.

Paul fully forgave Joe when they worked with Mick in 1985 on Big Audio Dynamite's music video for their single, Medicine Show, and things had gotten better. Despite the fact that he was barely even in The Clash anymore by that point, the two got along much better again. By now Joe had two young daughters with Gaby, but he still managed to find excuses to crash at Paul's flat from time to time. Then Paul was off to Los Angeles with his new band, Havana 3a.m., and they barely saw each other. Paul married Tricia and together they had his two wonderful sons, Louis and Claude. Meanwhile, Joe met Lucinda Tait and left Gaby. Paul returned to London where Joe was no longer living. Despite this, their relationship was rekindled. They would each tell their wife that they were meeting the other at a pub and instead get a hotel room for the night.

In 1999 Joe had started his solo band the Mescaleros and meeting each other became easier. Whenever the Mescaleros played in London, Paul would spend the night in Joe's hotel room. Three of the happiest years of their lives since The Clash's heyday passed in this manner and then, all of a sudden, it was gone. Cruel fate had ripped Joe away from him on December 22, 2002, and had left him wondering how he was ever going to find happiness again.


	13. Content At Last

All of the divorce papers had finally came through and Paul was already living with Serena and her daughter, Cora. He had maintained a good relationship with his sons through the divorce from their mother and was happy. In fact, he was happy even when he was not painting. It seemed as though there might still be a future. Maybe he could make the world once again fall to his feet like he had done in his days with The Clash. Not only that, he now felt that he was in a place in his life where he could both paint and make music-The Good, The Bad, & The Queen, which he played bass on had just been released in January. Of course, there were still nights when he would lie in bed with Serena next to him craving the contact that only Joe could give him, but for the most part he was much more interested in tomorrow than yesterday. For the first time since Joe's death, he was content.


End file.
